Ways of Magic
by aegis-shade
Summary: A mystical land where the rules of magic are taken to a new level.
1. Prologue

WAYS OF MAGIC  
TALES OF THE MYSTRALS   
BOOK 1: DOMINION  
CHRONOS FYRIA 207: AGE OF KENDORAN  
  
PROLOGUE  
  
In the heart of the magical land of Fyria, an uncommonly mighty tempest assailed the walls of Castle Kinshan. Gazing out from a window of the highest tower was a man draped in robes of crimson. Reminiscences of days long past filled his awareness all the while. Until an interruption occurred...  
  
Far to the south, a Tower of dark blue walls felt much unrest as loud clangs resounded throughout from the many clashes of mithril blade. A woman with armor perfectly matching her surroundings strolled through the ranks, correcting her trainees as necessary. They took no heed as she hurried out of the room...  
  
An equal distance to the west, a second Tower loomed above a forest that stretched far-off in all directions. A shroud of darkness gave the deception that all was still but for a slight hum and dim glow originating from the uppermost room. The sole living occupant knew otherwise...  
  
On the opposite side of the forest stood not a third Tower but rather an ancient tree of unmatched proportions. While many a chamber and passageway were carved from within, the great tree itself thrived well despite its lack of occupants. The usual vibrant sounds of bird and beast were absent however...  
  
In the northlands stood the fourth and final Tower. Through the transparent crystalline walls the servants subtly observed a white-clad man meditating three feet above the floor. It was obvious to them that all was not well purely from the look on his face...  
  
Much further to the west, far past the Black Tower, a new force was introducing itself to the land of Fyria. Although he could only be sensed by those with the Gift, his presence resounded in their minds as he stepped through the Rift followed by his army of demonic essence... 


	2. Chapter I: Friends Reunited

Chapter 1: Friends Reunited  
  
Were one to have the courage to enter the forest of gloom, were one to have the skill to surpass its many obstacles, were one to have the strength of will to overcome a thousand horrors, one would be granted the fortunate opportunity to find oneself standing at the doorstep of the infamous Black Tower. More often than not however, the heroic feat should end up in vain as the master of the residence ever so rarely has the patience nor interest to entertain his guests. It has been told by the occasional witness throughout the years that in his perverse "compassion," the master always at least takes the time to summon one of his less charismatic minions to perform the greetings in his place. After all the formalities, the witnesses often claim that these vampires (or hellhounds should it be daytime) were extremely adept at escorting them off the premises at speeds they knew not that they had. On this sunny afternoon however, one man galloped through the dark forest on his snowy steed almost completely disregarding the frightful beasts that gave chase. His light blonde hair barely moved despite the jolting of his pale horse. His robes of white, however, billowed behind him while almost intuitively avoiding snagging themselves on the flailing branches flanking the thin path. Halfway through the forest, thirty-seven out of the thirty-nine creatures giving chase either recognized him or realized the futility of going after one so fast and fluid. The remaining two were both dire-wolves, both young and forgetful of their teachings with such a delectable prey in sight. As a practiced team, the two converged upon man and horse, eyes glowing red with hunger. The rider took a couple of quick sideways glances and returned his eyes to the road, a slight smirk adorning his face. The next moment a most phenomenal thing occurred as both predators had their chase instantly discontinued as they unwittingly collided with an invisible wall of force erected from whence only air stood before. A few hours later, nigh on Phoebus stalling his fiery steeds, the white duo finally arrived at their destination. Standing at the foot of the tall Tower, they effectively contrasted the surrounding environment in both colour and spirit. Four walls of pitch black obsidian rose high into the air; perching gargoyles serving as frightful decoration on the upper ledges. The few windows visible on each side seemed to be positioned in such a way that a sort of malicious face were portrayed to a distant observer. It was a wonder that such a colossal building could be stationed with such stability on the forest floor. One could almost see the stones sinking into the depths inch by inch. All this was just an illusion however, and the visitor knew it all too well. He leaped off his horse with an inhuman grace and gave it a light slap on a rump that sent it trotting towards the stable. He had no doubts that his equine companion knew precisely where it was headed and so began walking towards the front door himself. He bothered not to knock however, knowing that his presence was now common knowledge. True to his instincts, the door came ajar and allowed him entrance just as he stepped onto the doormat. Once through, the door shut on its own accord and the man was left in near complete darkness with the exception of the pulsating light flowing from the few torches along the wall. Having visited the Black Tower many times before, he knew precisely where he was headed and thus began his trek without hesitation. Navigating the endless twists and turns of the Black Tower was simple enough and in mere moments he found himself in a cozy little study, warmed by a pleasant hearth in one of the side walls. From behind a black oak table across the room came a cheerful welcome as he entered the room. "Greetings and salutations to you, brother. How doth the revered White Mystral fare this fine evening, hmm?" The speaker was dressed in robes that threatened to engulf its surroundings in darkness. It seemed almost unreasonable that the two men could possibly be related, but if one looked hard enough, certain resemblances could be found. They both possessed the same handsome faces, perfect complexion and majestic statures that had broken no mean number of hearts. "Well enough, Orbulon. It's been a while hasn't it? How goes things in the land of the dead, pray tell." the White Mystral replied as he crossed the room and seated himself in a reclining chair in front of his host. "Same as always...dead. But there is no time for idle talk right now. I know why you are here. I felt it too. What do you make of it, Aegis?" "It came from the west. That is all that I can sense of it. Powerful though, no?" "Frightfully so, and we have yet to learn what it is and whose side is it on. What have you dreamed so far in your Oracle Quests?" "Not enough is all that I can say," replied the Psionic, "The dream roads have had an infestation problem of late. I can get through most of the obstacles, but it tires me to do so. It's all prevented me from achieving much in the last few days of dreaming. Sorry, no predictions for you." His brother did not bother speaking further, merely waiting for him to continue while enjoying his smoke pipe. A short moment passed between them before Aegis said, "The troubles on the dream road are unnatural. I could not be certain, but I sensed a demonic essence behind them." "And you believe that we can relate their origin to our new friend?" "Can't say, honestly can't say. But as for what else I..." he paused as something struck him, "Someone enters your realm, I can feel their mind essence...be at ease, Orbulon. It's Alithia." Her mind essence was as familiar to him as the sun rising in the morning sky. Despite the fact that their marriage was two centuries old, he still loved her as much as he did on their wedding day; this was in part due to their duties as Keepers preventing them from spending more than a few weeks at a time in each other's arms. In casual silence, the two brothers sat back and awaited the oncoming presence of the Blue Mystral as she rode fast through the surrounding forest just as her consort had but a few moments earlier. As she entered the Black Tower, however, the Psionic could not resist but reach out... "That tickles damn it! " came a half enraged voice from down the hall. Both male Mystrals failed in their attempts to stifle their riotous laughter. Entering the room was a blue-clad woman wielding a gigantic mithril broadsword and looking rather lethal despite the amused grin on her face. Even with the layers of armor that she wore and the battle stance that she donned, it was obvious to any observer that a voluptuous figure accompanied the beautiful face and streaming blonde hair. The next moment was but a blur in time-as was she-with the next thing Aegis feeling was her weight straddling his chest as he lay on the floor. That and a succession of kisses pelting his face. Finally she came up for air and stared deep into his eyes. "You satyr! You just couldn't wait could you?" Before he could reply however, there came a slightly irritated interjection from the other person in the room, "As much as I take pleasure in being entertained by the sexual acts of my brother and his lovely consort, might I remind you that we have more important things to worry about? You both came here because you knew that the gate into Fyria came from somewhere within my realm. Therefore, I propose that we accomplish something other than the favorite pastime of nymphs and fauns whilst you are here." The only reply that came to him were the sounds of passion unbridled after months of tranquility. 


	3. Chapter II: Shades of the Past

Chapter 2: Shades of the Past  
  
Every Mystral born is blessed with a unique and powerful gift that he or she alone has power over. These powers range anywhere from miraculous healing or the ability to shift mountains. No Mystral power has ever been repeated in recorded history but that drawback is well compensated by the fact that Mystrals possess a life span of several millennia and give birth to only a couple children or so during that time period.  
  
For Lysander Kendoran, a power with great potential for destruction was his to wield. As a Meteomancer he had the ability to control the weather by harnessing the power of the heavens. At will, he could strike upon his foes a powerful bolt of lightning from a summoned nimbus cloud or else build his enemies an icy tomb by blowing upon them the vicious arctic winds. Of course, along with great power there comes an even greater responsibility. With any use of his powers whatsoever, the Red Mystral would create an equal and opposite meteorological reaction elsewhere in Fyria. During his war to reclaim the throne two centuries past he made frequent use of his powers as a Meteomancer and the result was his reclaiming of a throne in a land plagued with draught and storm in many parts of the kingdom. Were it not for the support of the other three Mystrals who aided him throughout his war and thereafter, he knew that he might not have survived for long.  
  
Therefore it was not the thunder and lightning that set the young king of Fyria with unease, but rather the nature of the storm itself. Upon reaching out his mind and touching the inner core of storm, he could practically smell the foul stench of taint. It were as if the entire storm were but one great demonic force. Worst of all, he feared the outcome were he to use his power to relocate it elsewhere than directly above Castle Kinshan; months if not years of draught might follow and he definitely did not need more weight to bear upon his shoulders. He wondered then what his father would have done were he in his place. Kinowin Laur was the ruler of Fyria for five centuries straight-and his father and father's father before him-before he was overthrown by a trusted friend. Lysander could still recall the look of desperate fear on the traitor's face as he, the rightful heir of Fyria, strode across the throne room in the final battle against the treacherous Lord Feyne. The coward had begged miserably for his life and out of a sense of justice, Lysander had spared him until a proper trial could be erected. If it were not for the miraculous intervention of Aegis Shade in intercepting the poisoned throwing knife with his mind, there would not be a rightful king of Fyria this day. These reflections brought up thoughts for Lysander of his friends. Orbulon, Aegis and Alithia had once been subjects of his father and served in the same positions that they did now. It wasn't obvious to anyone that they were all more than three times his age but in his journeys with them, time and time again was he reminded of their wisdom and experience. To them, he was but a child; only two centuries in relation to the elves or sixteen years to humans. He tried desperately with every passing day to rule justly and with wisdom, but the support that he received from snooty courtiers and rambunctious nobles did not make his job any easier. It was unfortunate that the other Mystrals had too great duties as Keepers which kept them from aiding him in political matters. Not to say that he completely lacked support at all, however. Standing beside him were a small number of men and women that aided him in many ways while not scurrying for his royal favor. Among them were his father's old servants Shryt and Ghan, the elven seneschal and the gnomish librarian. These two men seemed to possess endless amounts of sound advice and never refrained from sharing it with him. Also among those that he counted friends were Chanra and Dram, childhood friends who stood but a step behind the Mystrals in his quest for the throne. He now put the two of them in charge of all of his military forces not led by Alithia Danae, mainly being the small yet elite Guardian Blades and the vast Royal Navy. Chanra had a tendency to serve him other ways as well, such as her special "therapy sessions" for whenever he was down. Needless to say, depression had a way of sneaking up on him more often than warranted during the first few years of his reign. "You know Lysander," came a feminine voice from behind him, "You bear a striking resemblance to your father. How you and stand so tall and strong, staring out your window at your realm." The interruption to his thoughts made his heart skip a beat as it was his personal study and the company of Chanra was not expected that night. It took him a moment as he reached for the sword that was not at his side before recognition set in. He turned about and smiled happily as he saw her, "Mother, it's so wonderful to see you again. No one has heard even a peep from you since father's downfall. We had all thought that you had vanished along with him." Her smile and laughter brought back many warm memories for her son. "Apparently you were wrong, Lysander. It takes more than that to remove Althea Laur from the picture. Especially when she's gone through the experience of giving birth to a rather fat babe. I hope you know that I'm so very proud of you." She was a small and delicate woman with lean curves and luscious auburn hair that draped a heart-shaped face so young and beautiful that men drooled over thinking her a youthful maiden. In truth she was a uniquely powerful Mystral-with age that she had lost count of in the millennia past-who used her art to conceal her true nature. Using the nearly limitless powers of illusion at her disposal, she cast upon herself the most wondrous make-up and went from a wizened old woman to a voluptuous teenager. As she stepped forward to embrace him however, she casually removed all of her illusions and became the mother that he had truly recall as a young boy. "I've missed you and father so much, mother. When Feyne betrayed us so, I swore that I would have my revenge. As you can see, I've succeeded, but not without the help of many." "You were fortunate enough to have had the aid of the Keepers, Lysander," she said as she embraced him with motherly love, "And now you shall require their aid again to fight an oncoming battle. Fyria has a new visitor, and he is not one to be reckoned with. I tell you now that he is an enemy, one that you must never underestimate. Do not allow for your victory over Feyne to make you overconfident." "I know that mother, the other Mystrals taught me so...why are you fading?" "Lysander, I have but little time left in this world. I only came back to give you a warning," she whispered as became more transparent, "Place your trust in the Mystrals alone, Lysander. Others may seem to be close, but only they can you rely on, my son..." In desperation, he reached out and grabbed at her now nearly invisible form, but all that he touched was a swirl of cold air. He fought back nostalgic tears as he dressed for bed then and continued to do so while underneath the sheets. Sleep seemed such a distant thing, so far from his reach. When it finally did come however, his last thought before drifting off was the recollection of his mother's powers. 


	4. Chapter III: Slip of the Tongue

Chapter 3: Slip of the Tongue  
  
All the while, a young girl ran for her life through a forest draped in darkness. Fear gripped at her heart and she could not stop herself from taking backward glances more often than necessary. Her lungs burned in their desperate plea for breath and her limbs that were not numb were sore and wracked with pain. Scratches and bruises covered her body as the result of tearing branches and frequent plunges to the dirt floor as she tripped over rocks in the darkness. Worst of all, it was beyond her understanding for what reason she was being chased by a mob of armed and angry men. Just as she thought that she would collapse from fatigue, she finally stepped into a small clearing with a brilliant pond in its center. The crystal water seemed to glow as it reflected moonbeams off of its surface. A sense of peace settled upon the girl and she knew that she was safe so long as she remained where she was. She bent her face down to take a much needed drink of water but suddenly recoiled as she noticed her own reflection. The person looking back at her was barely one that she recognized. Her disheveled hair and dirt smudged face brought forth tears that had been held back for most of the night. So distraught was she that she failed to notice the abnormality before her. Wherever her tears struck the surface of the water, the ripples pulsated and glowed. Grew in size they did until the pond was wracked with swirling waves. Finally alert to the change in her surroundings, the frightened girl began to slowly move away from the water's edge. As an arrow loosed from its bow, a figure thrust forth from within the pond. The young girl was astonished that there was even space for a body underneath those waves. Short and slender was the woman-like figure standing before her. The long and straight mass of her hair was green and hung down past her petite waist. Her skin was blue and her only covering was her falling hair. So perfect was the woman that she could have easily been mistaken for a goddess. Her most prominent feature, however, was that despite having just emerged from a rather wet pond, she was completely dry. She smiled at the little girl after noticing her bemused look and stepped forward. A blue hand reached forward and before the little girl could object, it touched her forehead. Be at ease, my young guest. I know you, Kaelie Rashalin. The voice in her head came so suddenly that she almost screamed, but a look into the eyes of the woman before her brought about calm. "How do you know me?" Through your mother of course. She brought you here often as a child. "You knew my mother? Who are you?" The woman's smile widened as if in amusement. So full of questions you are, little one. Be at ease and bathe in my waters while we converse. You are safe whilst you are here. For the remainder of the night, Kaelie took her time in bathing, dining on berries from a nearby bush, and conversing with her new friend. She learned that the woman's name was Kyr and she was a forest nymph. Due to a lack of vocal cords, conversation between them was restricted to a physical link telepathy. In return for the hospitality, Kaelie revealed the previous night's happenings. Kyr was shocked to hear the tale of plight told by her little friend. "I was just sleeping in our cottage when mother awoke me. She didn't explain anything. She only told me that we were in danger and she threw me out the window into the river. I didn't notice it then, but I don't know how she did that. The river was over thirty paces away and she only used one hand in throwing me!" You mother was special. Go on. "I floated downriver for about quarter of a league or so before I finally climbed out. I thought I was safe, but then a group of men came out of the forest and came at me! I ran and ran and ran until I finally got here." She was in a panicked state by the time she finished. Rest easy, child. You are safe here- "Those men.I hate them! They burned my house and killed my mother! I want them to die! I wish that they all die.of a horrible plague!" The resounding crash was as loud as a thunderclap and even more frightening. Kaelie felt as if she would faint. Both she and Kyr fell to their knees in shock. Kyr was the first to recover. Child.you must never do that again! You have condemned them all to death! "No! What did I do?!" She was so confused at all that was happening and her ears were still ringing. Where did that crash come from? How had she condemned the villagers? She could no longer stand it. She stumbled to her knees and ran from the clearing. The desperate whimper from Kyr for her to return went completely unheard. Tears filled her sight and she ran blindly through the forest. Not that she would have cared where she was going even had she been able to see. Some time later, she almost tripped and fell again as the forest around her suddenly broke into open air. After wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she found herself before a rustic little village. In the far distance, the sun was lazily stepping out from behind a range of mountains. Dawn. Yet there wasn't a soul in sight. She knew that by now at least a few of the early risers should be awake and going about their usual business. All of a sudden, a door opened and a man fell out of a house. Kaelie's eyes widened as he turned his face in her direction. So scabby and mutilated was his face that she could barely discern his natural features. Pus ran from several openings and his eyes seemed to have lost their pupils. "You!" He held up a broken off finger in her direction. "You did this! Witch! I'll kill you-" A racking cough interrupted him and he bent over in pain. Her stomach leaped within her as she saw the man spit out what looked like his tongue. How could this have happened? She ran through the streets of the town, looking into every house. The result was all the same. Men, women, and children were sprawled throughout. All were dead and all had the same horrific symptoms of the first man that she had seen. She stopped at one particular house where she found an infant girl lying in her bed. She cradled the small body in her arms just as it did a little rag doll. Tears once again filled her eyes as they sung her a now familiar lullaby.  
  
The sky had darkened and there was little light left in the house when she awoke. Releasing the mutilated corpse, she sought out food for her empty stomach. It had been almost an entire day since she had last eaten and it was a great relief to her body when she finished stuffing herself with gruel from the house's pantry. Kaelie knew that she could not stay where she was. Soon there would be visitors to the village and if any were to see her as the sole survivor in a devastated village, they would not hesitate to kill her. She took as much food as she could from the cupboards of the house and packed them in a tightly wrapped bundle made from bed sheets. Clothes she took from the wife's meager wardrobe, just enough to keep her warm in the nights ahead. She had no idea where she was going to go, but since staying put was not an option, she had to leave. With no destination in mind, she decided to simply take the path leading out of the village. South it lead, and to a new future. So deep in thought was she that she failed to notice the howling of wolves from behind her. 


	5. Chapter IV: Crossroads Perilous

Chapter 4: Crossroads Perilous  
  
The forest had gone deathly quiet with all traces of wildlife hidden 


End file.
